As the temperatures cool and my wardrobe becomes more layered, I am in disbelief that the summer is over and that my birthday is here. Wow, another year around the sun and I can’t quite wrap my head around it. This birthday came up fast. I swear it was July yesterday.
Let’s see - what did I do in my 33rd year…I traveled to both coasts with my child and we made it home in one piece; I started taking sunscreen more seriously; I tried herbal supplements, Xanax, acupuncture, hypnotherapy, and craniosacral therapy for my panic attacks; I treated myself to a week-long retreat sans husband and kiddo; and I progressed with my anxiety and health in ways I didn’t think possible.
I’m typically very sentimental this time of year, nostalgic for what has been. But this time, I’m finally feeling appreciative for the chapter I’m in right now and excited about what’s to come. As my cloud of anxiety and depression clears, I am optimistic - a word I haven’t used to describe myself since before I was pregnant. I’m enjoying my not-so-little Bub and excited to try for one more - something I thought I’d never say. Having one is exhausting enough. There is no rationale for wanting another. It’s not reason that makes me want another baby. It’s purely emotional.
Not too long ago, I wanted everything to be perfect before having another kid: perfect house, second car, Bub in daycare, a trusty sitter on speed dial, a few career projects checked off my list. It’s been a journey this year to realize that there is no perfect time to have kids or to do anything big in life. You do the thing and trust that you’ll adapt. I’ve been doing it all my life. I can do it again and again and again.
Instead of being just fine, I want to thrive. I want 34 to be more of what I’ve been doing, more of what I want. More prioritizing of health! More physical movement! More ways to fill my soul! And maybe, just maybe, one more kid.
